


Burns

by nowherenew



Category: Assassin's Creed
Genre: Facial Hair, Gen, M/M, desmond is a tiny child
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-06-02
Updated: 2012-06-02
Packaged: 2017-11-06 15:47:22
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/420565
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/nowherenew/pseuds/nowherenew
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Desmond has a request for Shaun.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Burns

"You should shave."

Shaun looks up from his work so quickly that his tea almost catches in his throat. " _Excuse_ me?"

Desmond blinks at him, as though trying to understand what was unclear. Shaun glowers at him without mercy, his eyes narrowed into suspicious slits. "Shave? You know, shave your beard. Stubble. Whatever." He gestures vaguely at his own jaw; Shaun stifles a derisive snort. He does not believe that he will ever tire of the unintentional entertainment provided by Desmond's considerably unfortunate intellect. 

Setting down his teacup, Shaun turns around in his chair and crosses his legs. He still does not think he looks quite affronted enough, so he folds his arms across his chest for good measure. "Now, _darling_ , why would I do that? I like it the way it is, and you've expressed a similar opinion in the recent past, as I recall."

Desmond shifts his weight, frowning petulantly. "Well, it's actually about that," he begins, but trails off with a resolute grunt. Shaun glances down at Desmond's front pockets, where his hands are subtly pressing on his inner thighs and wiggling ever so slightly. When Desmond realizes that he's being watched, he tears his hands from his pockets and shoves them into his sweatshirt's front pouch. 

Shaun raises an eyebrow and leans his chin on his knuckles, elbow resting comfortably on the arms of his beloved swivel chair. "Do go on, Desmond. I can't wait to hear what other fantastic ideas you've come up with since the last time you bothered me." Shaun rolls his eyes dramatically, making a scene out of turning back to his computer and suspending his work. Shaun spares another glance down between Desmond's legs, and murmurs contemplatively when he sees that Desmond is pressing his thighs together and minutely rubbing them back and forth.

Desmond turns away, suddenly very interested in the cables and wires on the other side of the room. "Well, you see..." His lips twitch, and he sighs heavily. He faces Shaun again, meeting his eyes, and whispers something that must have taken great effort to admit, because Shaun couldn't even hear a sound.

Shaun leans forward in his chair. "What's that? Desmond, I can't hear a thing of what you just said."

Desmond blinks, looking almost offended. Whether or not he is, however, is irrelevant. He takes a step closer and hisses, "It fucking _itches_ , Shaun."

Shaun blinks. He tilts his head to the side, just a tad, trying to make sense of what Desmond just said. He frowns again, making sure he heard correctly. "Itches. Right." He pursed his lips and stared at Desmond openly. "Desmond, I have a piece of advice for you. When a man who keeps facial hair puts his mouth on your ass, do try to expect that your skin will become irritated. However, it's nothing that some aloe and soap won't fix." He gesticulates at the bathroom door, sighing. "Use my face soap, and Rebecca should have some aloe in the cabinet."

Desmond exhales firmly. "But if you shave, it's prevention instead of a cure." 

With a loud scoff, Shaun replies indignantly, "I don't see why you sleep with me if you're going to whinge about it later. Go take care of yourself."

"I'm not complaining about the sex, you big ass, I'm annoyed because your ginger face gets on my legs!" Desmond growls defensively, openly scratching his thighs through the denim of his jeans. 

Shaun rolls his eyes again, flicking his wrist at Desmond. "Why would you think wearing jeans with a rash was a good idea, anyway?"

"That's not my point, Shaun," Desmond snarls.

"It's not like you actually use your legs, lying around in the Animus all day," Shaun snipes, and he doesn't care that it's his own bitter envy showing at this point. "You can either stay here and bother me or you can go take care of your rash. If you feel so sore about it, nobody's stopping you from growing a beard yourself and making the penalty fit the crime." Shaun twists his chair to face his computer again, but not before seeing the delighted grin on Desmond's face. 

"Hey, Shaun?"

"Yes, Rebecca?"

"You owe me aloe."


End file.
